Never Look a Gift Talaxian in the Mouth
by CaptAcorn
Summary: Everyone thinks of Tom Paris as the "class clown" of Voyager. What if he had a secret partner in crime? J & P friendship only, with P/T as background. Some occasional angst thrown in, because I can't help myself. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This was supposed to be a light humor piece, and evolved into something a bit more. Many many many thanks to the very patient Sareki for beta-reading this. Endlessly.

* * *

"Are we supposed to eat it?" Tom Paris regarded the object sitting on the biobed with a great deal of suspicion.

"Eat it? You think it's food?" Captain Kathryn Janeway looked at her pilot in horror. Normally she considered herself a woman of insatiable scientific curiosity, but currently that curiosity was being superseded by a healthy sense of self-preservation. She wasn't going within a meter of the thing.

"Well," Paris said, frowning in consternation, "It is from Neelix. I'm pretty sure he's served me more questionable things in the past."

"No, it's not possible," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "Look at it! It's far too...kinetic to be food. My nausea is finally going away, Lieutenant; please don't give it a reason to start up again."

"Sorry," Paris said from where he sat on the biobed that neighbored the one with Neelix's "gift," shivering despite the thermal blanket wrapped around him. Possibly because he had been "transformed" earlier than the Captain, he seemed to be taking longer to re-adjust to the ship's environment - far drier and cooler compared to the planet on which they had been found three days ago.

The first day, they hadn't been conscious at all. On the second day, both officers were looking much more like their typical human selves, but neither felt very good. The Captain, in fact, had spent a great deal of time locked in the head, wishing the Doctor would give her some privacy instead of banging on the door every ten minutes. And then there was today. Tom had avoided making eye contact with her for most of the morning, until she forced the issue of their recently abandoned offspring. Things were much easier between them after their talk, but the alleviation of the awkwardness had uncovered something far more tiresome - boredom. Neither Janeway nor Paris was known for their ability to sit quietly unoccupied for long and they still had another three days to kill in here.

After lunch, the Doctor had threatened to sedate them if they both didn't take a nap. He had also very annoyingly accused the Captain of being "cranky, as is common with overtired individuals" when Janeway had balked. (If Tom Paris thought he got away with that bratty smirk he made in response, he was dead wrong.) When she had awakened, she noticed this...item...that her Chief Morale Officer had seen fit to drop off when they were both asleep. The Doctor had known its name, (it had far too many x's in it for it to be pronounceable by a human tongue and had completely stumped the universal translator), but given his complete lack of curiosity about anything unrelated to medicine, he hadn't bothered to inquire as to its purpose. So Janeway had to wake her pilot to get his input. At least they had something to do now.

Paris had hopped off his biobed and was peering at the swirling colors of the outer container. Or maybe the container was clear, and the contents swirling? Who could tell? "Maybe it's some kind of ancient Talaxian remedy," the pilot said.

"For what?" The Captain's mouth quirked. "Do you think the ancient Talaxians had a lot of issues with turning into hyper-evolved salamanders?"

"Nooo," Tom said, a little piqued and scratching absentmindedly at his hands. "Like for dry skin, or whatever. God knows I could use something. The Doc won't even give me a cream - he just keeps saying he's concerned about how even topical treatments might interact with the remaining altered DNA." He moved closer and reached for the lid.

"Mr. Paris, if you choose to open that thing, I will not be held responsible for the consequences. And I want adequate warning so I can move to the other side of the room," she said sternly.

"Fair enough," he said, pulling his hand back. "You know, Captain, maybe we should just space it to be on the safe side. Let's not forget what happened with the cheese. We can tell Neelix the Doc made us do it."

"While I appreciate your line of thinking, Lieutenant, it's not an option. The Doctor scanned for biohazards when Mr. Neelix arrived with it, and already told him it was safe to leave here."

"Bummer," Tom replied. Janeway raised an eyebrow at the ancient Earth colloquialism, but the pilot just shrugged. "You pick up some interesting language in prison."

"Well, it seems I'm left with only one option." The Captain tried to make herself look as authoritative as was possible in a Sickbay gown and with her hair undone. "As your commanding officer, I'm making the containment of the...whatever it is... your responsibility."

"What?" Tom exclaimed. "It's a gift! I'm sure it was meant for you. You're the captain!" He tried to sidle away from the mystery present. "And I'm pretty sure Neelix is still mad at me for spending too much time with Kes."

"He most certainly is not, Mr. Paris, and you know it. This has nothing to do with their relationship," she said in her best command tone. "Now stop whining, and accept that you've lost this one. Don't think I won't put you on report if necessary."

"Well, that's a low blow," he said, sulking.

"I said this wasn't about Neelix and Kes," she muttered to herself. At least she thought it was to herself. One look at Tom Paris' face made it clear that her comment had been quite audible, as he was staring at her in shock. Shock that was rapidly evolving into that damned smirk. "Mr. Paris…" she started warningly.

Tom mimed locking his mouth with a key. "Will never leave this room, Captain," he winked at her. "You can trust me."

The Captain couldn't help but grin back at her pilot, although it didn't make what she had to ask him any easier. She and Tuvok had come up with the plan right before she gave Tom the go ahead to pilot the Cochrane; she hadn't had a chance to bring it up yet, for obvious reasons. But now the pilot had inadvertently given her the perfect opening. "I know I can, Lieutenant. Which is why there's something I want to discuss with you…"


	2. Chapter 2

Captain Janeway's hand paused before she pressed the door chime of Tom Paris' quarters. It was rare for her to feel anxiety when going to talk to a subordinate, but this was an unusual case. She had known full well going into this the magnitude of what she had been asking him to do, and she also had known he would say yes without hesitation. She had known why he would say yes, as well. The "why" was what was making her feel so guilty.

Over two years ago, when she had been assembling her crew for this ill-fated mission, she had been surprised to have a late night visitor to the temporary office Starfleet had assigned her. She had been even more surprised to see her old friend and mentor. "Admiral!" she had exclaimed. "What are you doing here so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Katie," he said, smiling at her. "Didn't I train you to be much more efficient than this? And I've told you before - after 1800 hours, it's Owen." He settled in the chair across from her desk, placing a very nice bottle of Cognac and two glasses in front of her.

They shared a drink and exchanged pleasantries to start, but it soon turned to Janeway getting the older officer's advice on the specifics of their mission to recover Tuvok and apprehend the Maquis. "I'm concerned about navigating the Badlands once we get in there. Stadi's an excellent pilot, but this is like nothing else in the quadrant."

"You're making this a little too easy for me, Katie," Owen had said, staring into his glass. At Janeway's questioning look, he continued. "I've made a terrible mistake. A series of them, really. And I'm not sure how to fix it, or even if it can be fixed. But I'm hoping you can help me try."

Of course she knew what had happened with Owen's son. There wasn't anyone in Starfleet that didn't. No one had put any blame on the Admiral, though - at least not openly. It was assumed Tom was weak, or rebellious, or deficient in some other way. A few gossipy types had blamed Julia. No one thought Owen held much responsibility at all for how the youngest Paris had turned out. Except, it turned out, Owen himself.

He had pushed him too hard, Owen told her. Spent too much time trying to turn him into the son he wanted, instead of trying to understand the son he had. Now Tom was returning all the letters the Paris family sent to Auckland, unread; he was refusing their visits as well. Kathryn was sympathetic, but wasn't sure Owen's idea was the answer. "Even if this mission goes well, Owen, you know that he won't get his commission back," she told him, as kindly as possible.

"I know that, Katie. I don't think Tom would want it even if it was offered," Owen said sadly. "But I have to hold out hope that he isn't completely lost. That he can still have some kind of life after his release. I just think...maybe if someone showed a little faith in him, someone that isn't me - maybe that will be enough to get him back on track." And so three days later, Kathryn Janeway traveled to New Zealand, and met a young man far more cynical than his age should have warranted.

And Owen had been right. She had seen it that first day after she destroyed the Caretaker's array, when she made him chief helm officer. His face had transformed - it was like ten years had dropped away. He had flourished under her guidance and approval, and was becoming a great officer - the one her old mentor had always hoped he would be. And it was all because Kathryn Janeway had shown Tom Paris a little faith, just as his father had hoped.

And then she'd taken the loyalty and trust she'd earned, and used it to her advantage. Exploited it to uncover a traitor on her ship. The ends justify the means, or so they say. Janeway hit the chime, and entered the pilot's quarters when the door opened.

"Captain!" Paris didn't look or sound too worse for the wear. In fact, he seemed downright jaunty. "Come to welcome back the returning hero?"

"Something like that," she said as she smiled at him. "I thought I'd find you in Sickbay. But the Doctor said you left against medical advice."

He shrugged and turned back to his unpacking. "Sickbay's like a fishbowl. I can sleep off a concussion here just as well as I can there. Better, probably." He turned to look at her again, a bit stiffly, Janeway thought, as if he were sore. "Thanks for getting my stuff back from the Talaxians, by the way. It's not much, but it's all I've got. And considering how much I've pissed Chakotay off lately, I don't think he's going to be in any rush to reinstate my replicator rations."

"I can help you with that," she said.

"Thanks."

The Captain approached him then, touching him on the arm to get his attention. As she drew closer, she noticed the shadows under his eyes and lines of exhaustion on his face. "Tom…" she started.

He shook his head then, his expression changing to something unreadable. "Don't. It's not necessary."

"What isn't?" she asked in concern.

"An apology," he said. "You asked me because you didn't have a choice, and because it was the best thing for the ship. That's all a Starfleet officer should need from his Captain. You of all people should know that. That's all my father would expect, or give in this situation. Definitely not an apology."

"I don't know if that's entirely true," she said. "In fact, I've been wanting to tell you about a conversation we had-"

"With all due respect, Captain," Tom interrupted her quietly, "I'd rather not hear about it. I know you have, or had, a much different relationship with him than I did. And I'm glad for you. But I'd rather not hear about it."

Janeway dropped her hand back to her side. "All right, Tom." Maybe she'd try again some day, to talk to him about the Owen Paris she knew, and how much that man loved his son. But now clearly wasn't the time. "Even if I don't owe you an apology, I certainly owe you my gratitude. The whole crew does. You did a good job out there, Lieutenant. If there's anything I can do to help you settle back in, don't hesitate to ask."

She should have been more concerned by the gleam that suddenly appeared in his eye, but she couldn't for the life of her come up with a specific reason to worry.

"Anything, Captain?" he asked.

"I suppose," she said cautiously. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well," he drawled. "There's something I've been wanting to give you, but I wasn't sure if you'd take it the right way. I promise you, though, it would make me very happy if you would accept it."

"All right, Mr. Paris," she replied, still suspicious. "I'll try to keep an open mind. Give it here."

"It's kind of packed away right now. Can I drop it off at your quarters later?"

"I'll be on the bridge for the next few hours, but I can give you authorization for entry," she said, still wracking her brain to figure out why she shouldn't be agreeing to this. "Or would you prefer to give it to me in person?"

"No," he assured her. "Your quarters are fine. I'll leave it somewhere you'll find it."

After four hours of reviewing various reports about the latest Kazon attack, checking sensor logs to determine their upcoming course, and enduring the seemingly endless waves of anger quietly radiating from her first officer, the Captain returned to her quarters ready for a long bath. She had completely forgotten about Tom's promised delivery. Then she opened her door, and detected an unfamiliar, and decidedly unpleasant, odor.

There it was, Neelix's "gift," sitting bold as you please on her dining table, with a folded paper note tucked beneath it.

 _Dear Captain,_

 _I'm so glad you offered to take this off my hands. It's been buried under some old socks at the bottom of my closet since you charged me with its care, and that seems to have triggered some kind of fermentation process. (I think?) Sorry about the smell!_

 _Tom_

He had drawn a smiley face next to his name. On an actual piece of paper. That he must have replicated using the rations she had _just_ authorized be returned to him. _That little shit_ , she thought, laughing out loud.

This meant war.


	3. Chapter 3

There were a few unspoken rules of engagement that had to be followed. Despite how she had first saddled Tom with their shared burden, Janeway now felt it was unsportsmanlike to simply order her helm officer to take the damn thing. And no fair just abandoning it in front of the other person's quarters - there had to be a certain amount of subterfuge involved in the delivery method. Repetition was also frowned upon. If you managed to arrange a site to site so that the object in question appeared on your best pilot's toilet just as he was exiting the shower, you couldn't attempt that method of transfer again, no matter how much joy you got from hearing your gossipy CMO telling you that "someone" appeared in Sickbay for treatment of a severely bruised tailbone with no explanation as to the cause. Apparently Mr. Paris preferred real water showers, despite the increased risk for slipping.

The next day, Janeway had approached her pilot at the conn, resting her hand on his shoulder. "You seem a little fidgety today, Lieutenant," she said quietly as she gazed straight ahead at the viewscreen. "As if you're having a hard time sitting. Do you need to replicate a pillow?" Her mouth curved into a small smile - she could swear she heard him grind his teeth in response.

And there always had to be a note. Handwritten, on paper. She'd found this one slipped under her door mere moments after a failed attempt to replicate a cup of coffee.

 _You should have seen how confused Harry was when I asked him how to make a specific replicator request trigger the transport of an object. Your second request for coffee should work just fine, FYI. I'm not suicidal._

Interestingly, that cup of coffee was the best one she'd ever been able to convince her replicator to make.

But regardless of any side benefits, this was clearly getting serious. If he was willing to mess with her coffee, all bets were off. Perhaps she should take the high road. She was his commanding officer after all.

So this was the note that she wrapped up in his rumpled bedclothes along with Neelix's present.

 _This has gone on long enough. I'll make you a deal. You satisfy my curiosity and ask Neelix was this is supposed to be and what we were supposed to do with it, and I'll take care of disposal._

 _P.S. This bed is hardly up to Starfleet standards, Lieutenant._

He didn't waste any time. Only two days later she was trying to fish out a wayward boot from under her bed when her hand hit something that was somehow both warm and clammy at the same time.

 _You don't have a very high opinion of me, do you, Captain? Did you really think I was going to fall for that? What if it turns out this is the Talaxian version of 1,000 year old eggs and he makes me eat some? I can't take a chance like that. No deal._

 _P.S. YOU messed up my bed_

 _P.P.S. Your boots are in the closet. Where they belong._

Damn it. Janeway was running out of ideas, and she had one hell of a headache.

* * *

"I guess we should just call it off then."

"I think so."

"Thank God we found out in time."

"Thank God."

"I don't know about you, but...I'm curious to see how this experiment turns out..."

Tom felt B'Elanna's soft lips press against his, tasting of wine and something even more intriguing, when suddenly she pulled away.

"Tom, what the hell is that?"

He turned to look where her stare was directed. "What the hell is wha… Damn it!"

 _The game is still afoot, Lieutenant. Your move._

 _P.S. Assuming you two do manage to be a little more discreet - I'm happy for you. Don't mess it up._


	4. Chapter 4

_You've got to be kidding me,_ Kathryn Janeway thought as she passed the silky, shiny material through her hands. The wig, the cut out over her cleavage, the slit up to there - she was beginning to think this was a cruel joke. Or maybe a bit of revenge.

To say that her relationship with her helm officer had suffered after Monea was the understatement of the year. Even though she was his commanding officer, she and Tom had shared an easy camaraderie from almost the beginning of their journey - it was a combination of their similar upbringings and a shared sense of humor (although Janeway kept hers under far tighter wraps than her often flippant pilot). Chakotay had once called him "her personal reclamation project," and he wasn't far off. She had come to see Tom as the little brother she had never had.

But then Monea had happened, and the lieutenant had not just challenged her, but had blatantly defied her orders. She couldn't let that slide, no matter how she felt about him. So she had thrown the book at him. In a sense, she had let him off easy. If they had been in the Alpha Quadrant he would have been court martialed for his actions, his Starfleet career over ( _again_ …). He may have even faced criminal charges for terrorism.

So why had so many of the crew looked at her like she walked around kicking puppies and stealing toys from children during the thirty day sentence that followed his transgression? B'Elanna she could understand, but Harry? Neelix? Chakotay seemed to have a new disappointed look for her at every meeting. She had even earned what she saw as a particularly judgmental eyebrow raise from Tuvok. It was as if none of them recognized that it was Tom that had violated the Prime Directive. He was the one that had forced her to fire on the Delta Flyer. She had to punish him, or risk an all out conflict with the Monean government.

 _Or you could have just flown away_ , a nagging voice kept reminding her. _They didn't have the fleet or fire power to do anything about it. It wouldn't have been the first time you left behind a pissed off alien species in the Delta Quadrant to suit your own purposes._ She could have just put him on report. Perhaps confined him to quarters when he wasn't on duty. Or maybe just the demotion. She thought about what Chakotay had said to her when she informed him of Tom's punishment.

"You put Tom Paris in solitary confinement? For a month?" he said incredulously.

Janeway had met his gaze head on. "That's what I said, Commander. Mr. Paris defied a direct order. That can't go unpunished."

"I'm not saying he doesn't deserve punishment, Captain." Janeway could tell he was making an effort to stay calm. "But it needs to fit the transgression. Not to mention the fact that it's not in the ship's best interest, either. You're going to deny us our best pilot because why, exactly? If Harry did something like this, you would not be coming down this hard on him."

"We have other pilots, Commander. And Ensign Kim would never do something like this. That's exactly my point. I need to send Mr. Paris a message."

"What message are you trying send? Tom didn't do anything worse than most of the rest of the senior staff has done at some point or another, myself included. So why did we all get a slap on the wrist, and he's getting forty lashes at dawn? Because he's your protege? Because he hurt your feelings?" He was standing now, all attempts at staying calm abandoned.

"You're out of line, Commander." Her voice was ice. "This is my decision, and it's final."

"You're out of line, _Captain_ ," he spat back at her. "And you might want to take a closer look at your decision, and ask yourself why the hell you made it."

They hadn't spoken of it again.

Then Tom had returned to duty, and that was that. She hadn't taken the chief conn position away from him, as she had considered. Regardless of his defiance, he was still the best pilot they had, and his department was incredibly loyal to him. She had broached the subject with Culhane at one briefing, and he had essentially said he wouldn't take the job if it was offered, and none of the other pilots would either.

She had watched him closely his first week back - looking for signs that the brig time had damaged him in some way, that maybe she _had_ been too harsh. There didn't seem to be any to find, though. He seemed content, actually; sort of...satisfied in a way that she hadn't seen before. Things went mostly back to normal almost immediately - he even cracked a joke at Tuvok's expense only three days after his release.

So nothing had changed. Nothing, that is, except their relationship.

It was a very formal "Aye, Captain," now. No more drawled "ma'am" in a tone just this side of insolence. A polite and respectful nod when they passed in the corridor or shared a turbolift. No more chit chat, or irreverent jokes, or invitations to play pool. She had felt him noticeably stiffen the first time she had laid a hand on his shoulder while he sat at the conn. She hadn't tried it again since.

She had just reached acceptance that their new arrangement might be a permanent one when this mess with the photonic life forms had come up. After one of the more bizarre senior staff meetings she had had during her tenure as Voyager's CO, (and that was saying something), it somehow had been decided that she would play the part of Queen Arachnia. And for some inexplicable reason, (and no, she didn't care to look too closely at this) she had told Tom Paris she was a size 4. She looked at the dress in her hands. She was going to need some extra...support to fit into this thing.

As she riffled through her closet, looking for the appropriate underpinnings, she found another unpleasant surprise - Neelix's "gift" (she really had to come up with a better name for it). It had been passed back and forth between her and the pilot at various times during the past year; she had last found it in her ready room, tucked behind one of the couches. Somehow he'd gotten it in there when she met with him for tea and they talked about how Tom had once dreamed of joining the Federation Naval Patrol. Given everything that happened after that conversation, she had resigned herself to being stuck with it for the long haul. She had almost spaced it one day last week, deciding that her and Tom's little competition wasn't ever going to be revived. But something had made her return it to her closet instead. She replaced it back on the shelf with a little smile, and took a deep breath. It was probably going to be the last one she'd be able to take for awhile, she thought ruefully. Size 4!

Much later, when she was peeling that damn dress off, she found she couldn't stop grinning. That was...fun. Oh sure, she had rolled her eyes and ruthlessly mocked her helmsman for his choice of hobbies, but the program couldn't have been more enjoyable - slinking around the black and white environment, chewing the scenery with abandon. And when she thought about it, the Arachnia costume wasn't that much worse than the corsets she'd worn during her Bronte phase.

When Tom had suggested she take the role, she was suspicious of his motives. He'd brought up the idea in front Chakotay and the others - she assumed he'd been relying on their presence to make it difficult for her to say no. And then this costume! She had thought maybe he wasn't so blithely accepting of his brig time, after all; maybe he was looking to humiliate his CO, just a little bit. And that crack about being the queen - that could be read on a few different levels, couldn't it?

But perhaps his motivation came from a good place after all. He must have called her "ma'am" a half dozen times today, in that damn charming drawl of his. Could Arachnia have been the very unusual Tom Paris version of an olive branch? Maybe he guessed how much she'd secretly enjoy this little romp; how much of a release it would be - to cut loose and emote, instead of trying to keep everything under tight control all the time.

And maybe she should tell him that his olive branch had been accepted.

* * *

Tom whistled as he walked down the corridor to his quarters. It had been a good day after all - a little saving the world, a little first contact with a previously unknown form of life - and all while he got to wear this spiffy leather jacket. He didn't know why modern day pilots had to wear those terrible jumpsuits - this look was a lot more fun. And flattering. Tom grinned to himself. At least that's what B'Elanna seemed to think. His good day should be followed by an equally good night; and maybe a good tomorrow morning, if he was lucky.

"Mr. Paris!"

Tom turned in response to the call of Voyager's morale officer and cook. (Ironically, Neelix's one set of duties often had a negative impact on the other. _Maybe he does it deliberately to create work for himself?_ Tom had wondered their first year in the Delta Quadrant. Sadly, while Neelix's level of indispensability had improved, his cooking had not.). He was carrying a largish box. "Hey Neelix, what can I do you for?"

The Talaxian bustled up to him, thrusting the box into Tom's hands. "The Captain asked me to give this to you. She said, and I quote, 'Please inform Mr. Paris I will have no further need for this attire, and that if he believes this is an appropriate costume for his commanding officer, he has another thing coming.'"

Tom let out a sad and frustrated sigh as he considered the box. "'Think'," was all he said to Neelix.

"Excuse me, Ensign?" The cook had his head cocked to the side, clearly confused.

"'Another think coming,'" Tom replied, "That's the correct saying. 'He has another think coming.' Oh, forget it. Doesn't matter. Thanks, Neelix."

Tom continued his way back to his quarters, his step decidedly less carefree. He had hoped this whole Captain Proton episode was going to be a turning point for him and the Captain. Maybe they couldn't go back to quite what they had before, but he had thought it was a start. She had _seemed_ to be enjoying herself on the holodeck. Apparently that had been an act, and one that wasn't for his benefit, given that she was obviously still angry with him.

He'd been pretty seriously pissed himself, at the beginning of his time in the brig. And, if he was being totally honest, he still thought the solitary confinement thing was grossly unfair. Especially considering she broke, or at least bent, the Prime Directive six ways from Sunday only two weeks after he was released; when she took on those refugees in direct violation of Devore law. Not that he disagreed with her - he would have done the same thing in her position - but it struck Tom as a little rich that her flexibility with the Prime Directive only applied when she was the one making the call.

But, he supposed, she _was_ the Captain; hell, she was basically the head of Starfleet out here. And he _had_ defied her orders. And the truth of it was that his time in the brig didn't go entirely to waste. He had figured something out while he was in there, with literally nothing to do but sit on his hands and think and think and think. He realized that what he did on Monea was the first time he stood up for a cause because he _wanted_ to - not because he was looking for someone else's approval. It wasn't Janeway's idea, or Chakotay's, or his father's; but his, Tom Paris'. He finally took a stand for something he believed in all on his own.

So, in a way, he owed her some gratitude for this new little bit of self-realization. But while he realized he no longer _needed_ her approval, it didn't mean he didn't still want it. At least a little bit. Old habits and so on. By the time he reached his quarters, he had resigned himself to the fact that it wasn't coming today, at least. _Oh well,_ Tom thought, always surprised when he discovered bits of Harry's optimism rubbing off on him, _there's always tomorrow._

Once he was in his quarters, Tom opened the box and regarded the neatly folded Arachnia costume lying within. He smirked a little. His CO had looked pretty damn good in the over the top dress. Who knew she had it in her? As he took the garment by the shoulders and started to shake it out, Tom idly wondered if could convince B'Elanna to wear it for him sometime.

And then there was a loud thud as a heavy object landed directly on his foot.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, hopping around. Good thing he still had his Proton shoes on, or he probably would have broken his toe. Once the pain had subsided, he checked the floor to see exactly what his attacker was. He promptly burst out laughing. Apparently the Captain wasn't so mad at him after all.

The note this time was quite simple.

 _Tag. You're it._


	5. Chapter 5

Kathryn Janeway gazed out the window of her ready room. It didn't seem right that the stars looked exactly the same as usual, given what had just happened. The day had started out as a fairly routine one for the Delta Quadrant - but then to hear voices from home! It still didn't feel quite real.

Janeway had come in here only a few minutes after the message had come through. She confirmed they received the promised data from Starfleet, took a minute to assign its analysis to Seven, and then gave Chakotay the bridge. She needed a little space to reflect on what had just happened, and let herself just be...Kathryn, and not Captain Janeway, if just for a little while.

Hearing Owen's familiar voice was something of a mixed blessing for her. It was a comfort, of course, to have even brief contact with the Alpha Quadrant - to know that Starfleet was still out there, looking for them. Somehow, though, it also made Earth seem that much farther away.

As she sipped her tea, it occurred to her that there was someone else on the bridge that might need a moment to compose himself as well. In fact, he might be experiencing even more turbulent emotions than she was. She hit her combadge. "Commander Chakotay, please have Mr. Paris report to my ready room." She pulled a second teacup from the shelf.

A moment later her door slid open. "Captain? You needed me for something?" he asked, a touch of concern in his voice.

She smiled to put him at ease, and indicated he should join her on the couch. "How are you holding up, Tom?"

A confused smile appeared on his face. "Holding up, Captain?"

She watched him as he sat and took the offered tea. "It's not every day one hears from their estranged father. Especially not one that's nearly sixty thousand light years away."

"Oh. That." Apparently there was something very interesting in his cup.

"I imagine it was difficult. To be able to hear him and have him say he's proud of you, but to not have the chance for a real conversation." She turned her head to the side to try to make eye contact with him, but didn't have much success.

"I'm fine, Captain." He looked up then, his expression calm. "It was good to hear his voice, actually."

"That's it?" she asked him, eyebrows raised.

He shrugged and stood then, walking over to the railing that separated the couch from the rest of her office. "I'm not sure what you were hoping for. What went wrong between us - it was a long time ago. I've had a chance to gain some perspective out here." He looked at her over his shoulder and gave her a wry grin. "Seventy thousand light years can give you a lot of it."

"I suppose it can," she said, leaning back into the couch. She laughed a little at herself. Tom had changed a lot over the course their journey; he'd grown up, really - particularly in the last year. Maybe he'd come to a new understanding of his father and their relationship, and she'd built the whole thing up in her head. "I'm glad for you, then. I have to admit, I called you in here because I was afraid you'd take what he said the wrong way."

"Oh? Why would you think that?" he asked her, his tone deliberately casual. Janeway noticed his grip tighten on the railing. Hmm. Maybe it wasn't all in her head after all.

"From what I've heard from your father, the two of you have a long history of misunderstanding each other." She stood to join him. "But you should know, Tom - even if he hasn't said it to you directly before - he's always been proud of you."

Tom gave a short laugh at this. "What do you think his proudest moment was, Captain? When I was was dishonorably discharged? Or maybe when I was arrested for terrorism and conspiracy to commit treason?"

"Tom…" she said and paused. Janeway realized, belatedly, that now that she had started this, she wasn't exactly sure where to go from here.

He tried to smile at her then, but it was obviously forced. "It's all right, Captain, really. You don't have to make excuses for him, or explain him to me. It was nice of him to say what he did, and I'm sure he meant it in his own way."

She put her hand over his. "What do you mean, 'in his own way'? Why couldn't he have just meant that he's truly proud of you?"

He pulled his hand from hers and crossed his arms over his chest. "Because he doesn't _know_ me. I haven't spoken to him in nearly ten years. And now - what? He's relieved his son's not dead. He reads some ship's logs, and thinks, 'Hey, the kid managed to make good after all!' I'm sure he's proud that I'm not a total embarrassment anymore. But...he's not _here_. He doesn't see who I am now, or what's important to me - not really. Maybe I'm not being fair, but it feels like he's just proud of some idea of me that he's created in his head." He blew out a long breath and ran his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry Captain. You don't want to hear all of this."

"I didn't ask you in here just to drink my tea, Tom," she said dryly. She turned and leaned back against the railing so she they could talk face to face. "A few years ago, I tried to talk you about your father. Do you remember? It was right after you flushed out Jonas as the traitor."

"Sure," he said with a shrug.

"At the time, you said you didn't want to hear about my relationship with your father. But that wasn't what I wanted to talk about." She hoped bringing this up was the right thing to do, and wouldn't just be rehashing painful memories. "I wanted to tell you about a conversation we had about you."

Tom stared at the ground in silence before giving her a short nod.

"Let me ask you something. Why do you think I wanted you to come on this mission? You were in Chakotay's cell for, what, less than a month? You said it yourself, you didn't know much about their hiding spots. As I recall, Intelligence's official classification of you was 'Unlikely to be an Asset.'"

Tom snorted at this. Janeway decided to take it as an encouraging sign.

"So why would I travel to New Zealand to recruit a cynical convict that would probably have little to no helpful intel?"

"I suppose you're going to say my father asked you to do it as a personal favor." His face took on a hard look she hadn't seen in some time. "Maybe he was hoping you'd lose me in the Badlands."

"Don't, Tom," she chided him gently. "That's not you anymore."

He sighed. "You're right, I'm being childish. Sorry." He turned to meet her eyes then. "So let him be proud of whoever he thinks I am, or he hopes I am. He's tens of thousands of light years away. It doesn't really matter anymore, or it shouldn't anyway."

"He's your father, Tom. Of course it matters." She put a hand on his arm to stop him from turning away. "The reason he came to me, and asked me to take you on Voyager, is that he wanted someone to give you a second chance. He knew you wouldn't take help from him, or your family. But he also knew you were capable of something…" She searched for a word that wouldn't embarrass him, or bring back memories of when he was still just Admiral Paris's promising son. "Of something more than you were, back then. He didn't know what it was yet, but he knew there was something out there for you."

"He probably didn't guess I'd have to go all the way to Delta Quadrant to find it," Tom replied with a small chuckle.

"Probably not, no," she said, smiling back at him. "What I've been trying to get at is this: maybe he's not the same person you remember. Maybe ten years has changed him, too. I can say with absolute certainty that you're not the only one that has regrets about your relationship. So consider that perhaps you should stop worrying about him being proud of you for the wrong reasons, and just recognize that he's trying." She squeezed his arm gently. "The two of you have to start somewhere, you know."

His face fell a little. "I'm being kind of a jerk, huh?"

She laughed at him then. "I would say you're just being human. Something you and your father have in common. Owen Paris is not an easy man to please, or an easy one to read, either. I, of all people, know that. But he loves you, Tom. Of that, I don't have the slightest doubt."

* * *

When Chakotay told him the Captain wanted to see him in her ready room, his first instinct was to mentally replay the last few days to figure out what he'd done wrong. It was a habit developed over a lifetime of being called on the carpet in his father's office, both at home and the Academy. Honestly, though, getting a reprimand might have been less awkward than the conversation they ended up having.

Of course he knew Janeway and his father had been close. He'd pretended not to know who she was that long ago day in Auckland, but the fact is her name had been burned into his memory since he was a teenager - the officer that had been taken prisoner by the Cardassians along with his father. He had even suspected that her relationship with Owen was why he'd been asked to join the mission. But at the time, he hadn't wasted much energy digging into her motives. Overwhelmed by the isolation and claustrophobic nature of prison life, Tom would have agreed to go even if Janeway had said she was bringing him along to scrub the warp coils with a toothbrush.

Then he found out she wasn't the carbon copy of the Admiral that he'd been expecting. At that point in his life, he hadn't thought he could be surprised by anything anymore, but Kathryn Janeway did just that. She was smart and clearly a natural leader; but it was tempered by a sense of compassion he hadn't seen in anyone in a long time. When he also discovered she had a wicked, if carefully concealed, sense of humor - that was just the icing on the cake.

But that did not mean he wanted to talk to her about his father. There were some boundaries he wasn't ready for anyone to cross - especially not someone that was the son (or daughter, he supposed) Owen had always wished Tom had been. He'd been carefully dodging this conversation with her for years - and managed to contain it to one close call right before the dustup about Monea - until today.

You'd think he'd have been prepared with his walls fully in place - after all, once he'd heard Owen's voice echoing throughout the bridge, he hadn't been able to think of anything else _but_ his father. Somehow, though, when he'd accepted the cup of tea and sat on her couch, he'd been completely blindsided.

And, damn it, she'd been right. Right to tell him why Owen wanted him on Voyager. Right to call him out for falling back into his old pattern of self-pity and to encourage him to give his father the same second chance he himself had received.

"Perhaps you should just recognize that he's trying."

She was also right that he was finally ready to hear it.

Man, it sucked being a grown-up sometimes. It was so much easier to just blame your parents for all your mistakes and shortcomings. Look at how I was raised! How could I help myself? But as hard as it was, Tom knew it was better this way. The mistakes were his own, but so were the good things - his relationship with B'Elanna, the trust he'd earned from the crew and his Captain, even designing the Flyer.

It was stupid, really; he should be over it by now. But there was still a part of him that hoped his father would someday get to see the good things, too.

"Torres to Paris. Come in, Paris."

Tom turned from where he was looking out the mess hall windows to see B'Elanna standing close, with an expression of mild annoyance and affectionate indulgence that she seemed to reserve just for him. "Sorry," he said with an apologetic grin, "I think part of my brain is in the Alpha Quadrant right now."

"I'll forgive you - this time." She leaned into him, wrapping her arm around his. "You OK?"

"Sure," he replied. "Just a little...off balance."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked him.

"I want to get out of here," Tom said, looking around the room crowded with celebrating crew members. "Do you mind?"

"Are you kidding?" B'Elanna snorted. "Harry just challenged Tuvok to another game of Kal-toh. He's feeling overconfident because he beat Vorik. I can't stand to watch him be humiliated."

Tom raised an eyebrow at this.

"OK, you're right. It would actually be pretty entertaining to watch. Again." B'Elanna leaned closer and whispered with some urgency. "The real reason is I overheard Neelix telling the Doctor about a dessert using some leftover Alfarian hair follicles. We should sneak out now, before anyone else finds out."

"Aren't those follicles, like, five years old by now? What is he thinking?" Tom asked, horrified.

"What is he ever thinking? Maybe he had them in stasis," she hissed at him pulling on his arm. "Let's go, Paris!"

As they hurried through out the door of the mess hall farthest from the Talaxian's current location, Tom turned and caught the Captain's eye. She looked confused for a moment at his hasty departure (the news about dessert had clearly not yet made the rounds), but then saw who was pulling him out the door and gave him a smile. Tom winked back at her as the doors closed, feeling just a touch of guilt.

He'd thanked her, of course, after their talk earlier today. But it seemed inadequate for the insight into his father she'd given him. He wished he could think of something to do for her, or to say, but sincere expressions of gratitude weren't exactly his strong point. Maybe he could write her a letter? Or maybe…

"Hey," he said to B'Elanna. "Can I meet up with you in a few? There's something I need to do first."

"Like what?" she said impatiently. He recognized that look in her eye. She apparently had other plans for dessert (not that Tom minded one bit).

He paused before answering her. The exchange had always happened in secret. Even if someone else was roped into playing a role, they were never aware of the longstanding joke they were a part of. But he could trust B'Elanna, right? He liked to keep people at arm's length, even the people he loved. It was safer that way, he'd even say he was more comfortable that way. But B'Elanna - they'd been through a lot lately between her near death experience, and Tom nearly having his brain scrambled by Alice. Maybe it was time to let her in a little more - even if it was something sort of...silly.

"I can't really explain," he said to her. "I have to show you."

A few minutes later they were in his quarters, staring at the object tucked away in a drawer. "You said Kes gave it to you before she left," she said accusingly. "You said I couldn't say anything because Neelix's feelings might be hurt that she chose to give it to you instead of him."

"I know," he responded. "It didn't seem right - telling someone else about it then. But now…"

She looked at him for a moment, seeming to realize that this was a show of trust, however bizarre. "Fine. I'll help you. It makes more sense now, actually. I _knew_ Kes had better taste than this."

And so it happened that for the first time, Tom had an accomplice as he carefully arranged the Captain's tea set around the gift. He and B'Elanna sniggered as they snuck back out of her ready room, anticipating Janeway's reaction tomorrow morning.

And of course, Tom left a note.

 _I know this seems like a weird way of showing it, but I am grateful for the tea. And even more for the sympathy._

* * *

 **A/N:** If anyone enjoyed this chapter, thank Sareki (I hear she likes people to read and review her stories). It was only because of her patient beta-reading that this chapter was not A. abandoned and B. a total piece of horse crap.


	6. Chapter 6

Kathryn Janeway felt her eyes grow misty as the shuttle bay doors closed behind her friend. She was happy for Neelix, of course. She knew he had thought he'd left behind any chance of finding a life with other Talaxians long ago. But that didn't mean she wouldn't miss him terribly. Not his cooking, of course, but his irrepressible optimism and the boundless joy he took in even the smallest pleasures. She hadn't known what to think of the strange little man when he had asked for a place on Voyager seven years ago, but he had become a valued and much loved friend.

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of crying. She turned and was startled to see B'Elanna sobbing quietly into her husband's shoulder. Tom was rubbing her back and making reassuring noises into her ear. This was unexpected. The whole crew was fond of Neelix, of course, but Janeway had never seen her chief engineer shed a tear, much less break down like this. In the corridor. In front of a good third of the crew.

"B'Elanna?" Harry Kim approached the couple tentatively. "You OK?"

It was like a switch had flipped. B'Elanna whipped away from Tom so quickly she threw him off balance and he fell against the bulkhead. "I'm fine!" she said fiercely. "What are you all staring at?" She quickly swiped at her eyes and stormed off towards Engineering with nary a backward glance.

The Captain reached out a hand to steady her pilot as he pushed himself off the wall. "Thanks, Captain," he said dusting himself off as rest of the crew dispersed.

"Is B'Elanna all right?" Janeway asked him with concern. "I've never seen her quite so distraught."

Tom gave her his lopsided grin. "Oh, she's OK, Captain. She's just going to miss Neelix. She always pictured him helping out with the baby, you know? And some of it's this last trimester - the pregnancy hormones have been making her have some very...disproportionate emotional reactions."

Janeway's brow creased in concern, "Shouldn't you go after her?"

He shook his head. "It's better if everyone just pretends like nothing happened. As far as B'Elanna is concerned, the worst part of it is that it occasionally hits her at an inopportune time - meaning whenever she's with anyone but me. And then she gets embarrassed. And embarrassed B'Elanna…" he trailed off.

"Equals angry B'Elanna?" Janeway finished for him.

"Yup," he chuckled. "Can I walk you to the bridge, Captain?"

"That would be lovely, Lieutenant." She smiled at him, then gave a little sigh. "I suppose now we'll never know."

"Know what, ma'am?"

"What Neelix's gift was for!" she exclaimed. "Over five years, and neither one of us was ever brave enough to ask him what we were supposed to do with it." She still felt a touch guilty about her latest victory. When Tom had uncovered its hiding place beneath a biobed diagnostic arch, the Doctor had been only a few meters away. Apparently his odor processors had been particularly sensitive that day, owing to a glitch in his program. The pilot and part time nurse had been subjected to what was likely a long, painful lecture about how sickbay was a completely inappropriate place to engage in practical jokes. Loyal to the core, Tom hadn't revealed her involvement and the took the fall without complaint. Not a lot of complaint, anyway.

Janeway halted mid-stride and turned when she realized Tom had stopped in the middle of the hallway. "Wait," he said, "Did I forget to tell you?"

"Tell me what, Tom?" she asked, a little suspicious.

"I asked him a few weeks ago! I couldn't take it anymore," he explained. "Plus, the baby will be here soon. I'll be too sleep deprived to run around the ship at all hours, trying to foist a bizarre Talaxian relic off on my commanding officer."

"Bizarre Talaxian relic?" She latched onto this key phrase. "It's some kind of relic?"

"Yeah," he said brightly. "Actually, he was glad I finally asked him about it. Turns out it was just supposed to be on loan. It's a kind of healing totem. He wanted it back, but felt too awkward to ask you about it. So I told him you wouldn't be offended if he took it with him." He smirked at her. "I wasn't mistaken, was I?"

Janeway paused to give him a glare before asking, "What about the smell?" She was not entirely convinced by the tale her conn officer was spinning.

"Talaxians are big into aromatherapy. Let's just say their taste in smells has about as much in common with a human's as their food preferences do."

Janeway crossed her arms and directed her most penetrating glare at him. "This all sounds very convenient, Lieutenant."

"Oh my God," he laughed. "Do you think I'm making this up? Why would I do that? I'd be stuck with it forever!"

"I suppose you have a point," she said, her eyes narrowed as she studied his face. "But if I find out you're lying to me, Mr. Paris…"

"It's all true, Captain!" Tom held up his hand, palm forward. "Scout's honor!"

She shook her head, but didn't bother to stop the broad smile that came to her face. "You promised to walk me to the bridge, Lieutenant. Let's go."

* * *

As Gretchen Janeway put the breakfast dishes into the refresher, she kept one ear tuned to the second floor where her eldest daughter was unpacking. Voyager had been back in the Alpha Quadrant over a month now, but her captain had only returned to the family home in Indiana yesterday. Gretchen was concerned by how troubled Katie seemed, and even more by the fact that she didn't seem to be sharing it with anyone.

After a brief medical quarantine, Starfleet had allowed the crew (quite graciously, in their mind) a week for reunions and celebrations with long missed family and friends. Gretchen had helped coordinate all the family coming in - she knew many of them after all, having been tasked by Owen nearly three years ago to be the civilian liaison to the crew's family. But then the debriefings had started. Some of the lower ranked crew members were done and released in only a few days, but the senior staff and Katie in particular had been subjected to grueling hours-long sessions for over three weeks. She had stayed locally, wanting to be physically close to the daughter she hadn't seen in seven years - even if they didn't have much time to actually be with each other. There had been not a few times that she had overheard her daughter's first officer and one or more of the other senior staff having whispered angry conferences amongst each other. Gretchen got the distinct impression that they thought Katie was very unfairly being put through the wringer.

And when she wasn't being questioned, Katie poured through legal texts and briefs, hoping to ensure that her crew members with more questionable status would be safe from prosecution and be given rights and career options they deserved. Her loyal coffee mug never left her side. Gretchen liked her caffeine, too, but even she was alarmed at the amount her daughter was consuming.

"Vegetable bouillon is not food, Kathryn," she said sternly to her daughter one night. "You will stop and eat this meal. And you will have something other than coffee with it. I'm still your mother, you know. Don't make me prove it to you." Katie had rolled her eyes but ultimately complied.

Finally it was over. The Maquis and the remaining Equinox crew had been given conditional pardons, and Owen's son had been released with time served. The Doctor had been accorded the same rights as any sentient life form, and Seven of Nine's participation in Borg related research would be on a strictly voluntary basis. Many of the crew would be allowed to keep the commissions and ranks that Katie had given them. And Katie would be given a promotion. With the Dominion War in the very recent past, Starfleet was looking for heroes and feel-good stories - Katie was one of them.

So why did she seem so lost? Gretchen started to see it when the first of her senior staff left the temporary housing Starfleet had given them. A young Asian man - Harry Kim was his name. He had hugged his now former captain tightly before leaving the compound; as Katie watched him walk away with his parents, it seemed to Gretchen like he took a little piece of her daughter with him. It happened again and again - Tuvok with his family back to Vulcan to continue the next phase of medical care he needed, Tom Paris and his wife B'Elanna with their adorable newborn. Katie had almost immediately locked herself in her bedroom when her first officer, Chakotay, left with Seven of Nine. Gretchen had knocked on the door, hoping to offer her some comfort, but had been greeted by silence. An hour later, Katie had emerged with a packed bag and a faked smile, ready to go home to Indiana.

Starfleet was offering her counseling, of course, but Gretchen knew her daughter was smart enough to say whatever needed to be said and still avoid dealing with anything she didn't want to. All Gretchen could do was be present, and hope that Katie would talk to her soon.

"Son of a bitch!"

Gretchen dropped the plate she held in her hand, and her head snapped up the ceiling. What had happened? Still quite spry for a woman in her seventies, she jogged up the stairs to her daughter's room.

She passed through the open door to find Katie sitting on the edge of her bed, her body shaking and her head buried in her hands. "Katie, what is it?" she asked, worry making her stomach to sink. "What's happ...Oh my God, what is that smell?" Gretchen covered her nose with her hand.

Katie's head came up and Gretchen realized she wasn't crying as she initially thought. She was laughing - silently, helplessly, hysterically laughing. Her daughter gestured towards a partially unpacked crate, holding a piece of paper in her hand.

Gretchen turned towards the crate and saw the source of the odor. With its vibrant but clashing swirling colors, the terrible smell, and the odd low pitched hum it seemed to be emitting, the elder Janeway couldn't even hazard a guess as to what the thing was.

"Can you...read...I can't…" Katie was still shaking with laughter, tears streaming down her face. Gretchen took the paper from her hand.

 _Dear Captain (or is it Vice Admiral Janeway now?),_

 _I know, I know. I lied. (I was never actually a scout.) I didn't ask Neelix what it was for - neither I nor my stomach has that kind of courage. The idea was that I'd lull you into a false sense of security, and then, bam! There it would be, sitting in your chair on the bridge on your next birthday._

 _Of course, you ruined all of my hard work by getting us home 63 years earlier than planned._

 _If I was Harry, this is the part of the letter that would be a ridiculously sincere testament as to why we all would have followed you to the ends of the galaxy (and very nearly did). And every word of it would be 100% true. But I'm not Harry (like he'd ever sneak into your quarters!), so this will have to do. Thank you. For all of it. Because the truth is, I would not have a single one of the most important things in my life without the second chance you gave me._

 _But do us all a favor, and try not to wallow too much in the fact that you weren't perfect every moment of these past seven years. Perfect is way too boring, anyway. Instead, enjoy this lovely parting gift! Not that you ever need an excuse to visit us (you are Miral's godmother, after all), but now you have an iron-clad one._

 _I know you aren't going to let me win this._

 _Your friend always,_

 _Tom_ : )

 **The End**


End file.
